A Softer Snake
by Little-Silver-Sparrow
Summary: warning: NOT BEATAED What if Tom Riddle Sr. had raised Tom? Would he still grow up to be Voldemort?


Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own the Harry Potter universe or any of its characters.

**A Softer Snake**

Tom Riddle Sr. glared at the wretch he had called his wife. He had taken Merope Gaunt into his life, into his home, into his _bed._ And how was he repaid? By her revealing to him that not only was she a witch, but she had bewitched him into marring her and getting her pregnant. He was seething. His wife whimpered slightly from the corner of their bedroom where she was seated.

Her plain face was streaked with tears that made her pale eyes shine. Stringy hair partially covered her face, and that made him hate her even more. How dare she enchant him—_control _him—and then have the gall to act so hurt and pathetic once she admitted it? It was disgusting. The only thing keeping Tom from kicking the witch out of his home was the slight bump on her stomached he could make out through her dress.

As much as he may now hate the mother, Tom didn't want to harm the child. His parents disapproved. But he only had to point out how throwing out a pregnant woman would look to the community and they ceased to speak on the matter, though he could tell his mother wasn't as against the idea of him keeping the child as his father was—she'd always loved children, and though she wouldn't encourage him to keep the baby, she wouldn't oppose him either. And his father had never been able to deny him for long so it shouldn't too difficult to keep Merope in the house until the baby was born.

When Tom had told Merope to move her things into the bedroom on the opposite side of the manor as his bedroom she'd looked heartbroken, but kept her eyes on the floor as she did as she was told. Her Tom was letting her stay after all. Tom sneered.

Merope staying in his house was actually much easier to bear than Tom had thought it would be. It was a big manor and it wasn't too difficult to stay in rooms not inhabited by her future ex-wife. He made sure she had the best medical care of course—that was his baby inside her—and the servants took care of her every need, but other than doctor appointments he deluded himself into forgetting he _had_ a future ex-wife most days. But by the time Merope's ninth month of pregnancy came around there was no ignoring her. She followed him around like a lost puppy constantly chattering about anything and everything.

When she told him that, if the baby was a boy, she wanted to name him Tom Marvolo Riddle he hadn't known what to say. He'd always assumed he'd be the one to name his child, not her. But once he thought about it, it did make sense that she'd be thinking up names for the baby. She'd even shown him a locket—family heirloom apparently—that she planned to give the baby. Tom felt a wave of odd guilt come over him. He hadn't even told her that she wasn't going to be welcome once the baby was born yet. As far as Merope was concerned, he was well on his way to forgiving her.

But Tom pushed the guilt away and said Tom Marvolo Riddle was a fine name for their baby if it was a boy. Tom even told her the name he'd picked out if the baby was a girl, Samantha Julie Riddle.

"Oh, Tom, this is wonderful!" a very pregnant Merope had cheered, "We're picking baby names together! Oh, and isn't wonderful that I picked a boy's name and you picked a girl's?"

Tom had selected a male name as well, but didn't tell her. The guilt gnawed at his stomach, but he pushed it away. And it stayed away until he held his newborn son in his arms. The pink squalling baby had a black head of hair and a strong set of lungs, and Tom hadn't known he could love something this much. He nuzzled the fine dark hair and kissed the small forehead.

"Tom…," Merope's weak voice called out. Her shaking arms lifted, asking for his son. Tom reluctantly handed over his baby boy to the woman who brought him into the world. "He's so beautiful…," she whispered. It was then that Tom really looked at her for the first time since her enchantments had been cancelled. Tom noticed that her skin was pale and shining with sweat, which was not unusual for a woman who'd just given birth, but he was pretty sure the constant shaking and dilated pupils were. When he pointed these things out to the doctor he went pale and wretched the baby out of Merope's arms and handed him to Tom.

The next thing Tom knew, he and his baby boy were pushed to the wall as the doctor called nurses in, all of them shouting things Tom couldn't understand. He clutched his son to his chest and murmured soothing nothings to him as the baby began to whine. Tom stood there for what felt like an eternity, not knowing what to do. On the one hand he just wanted to go home with his son and cuddle him for hours. But on the other Merope had given birth to his child and even though he planned on kicking her out as soon as she was well enough he felt she deserved for him to stay in the room at least, no matter how much he hated her.

Three and a half hours later the doctor approached him with blood on his hands and a grim look on his face as he told Tom the wife he loathed was dead from blood loss. Merope Riddle got to see her precious son, her ticket back into Tom's heart, one time before leaving this world forever. Tom was numb. In the end he just nodded and asked when he could leave with his son.

A few minutes later Tom's hand hesitated over where he was to write his son's name on the birth certificate. His parents wanted him to name the child the name Tom had decided on, but Tom just couldn't seem to do it. Merope had _died _to bring their son into the world and Tom felt she should have more of an impact on her son's life than giving him a gaudy gold locket when he was older. So it was the name Tom Marvolo Riddle that graced his son's birth certificate instead of any other.

…_nine years later…_

Tom Sr. tried in vain to bury his head beneath his feather pillow against the vile morning rays of sunlight as he felt an insistent poking against his side. He groaned as he conceded defeat and rolled on his side, coming face to face with two dark eyes. His deceptively adorable son climbed on the bed wearing nothing but his pajamas and his pet garden snake—he'd found it outside the manor and had absolutely _refused _to give it up, not that the snake seemed inclined to leave—wrapped around his neck like some bizarre necklace.

"Daddy, Daddy, guess what today is!" he squealed.

Tom Sr. put a thoughtful look on his face and pretended to think. "Hmm…I'm not sure Tom. Why don't you tell me?"

"It's my birthday, Daddy!" Tom was bouncing on his father's bed he was so he happy. His snake, named Merope after his dead Mummy, hissed unhappily at being jostled in such a cruel way by her young master. Tom Hissed soothingly back at then glanced uncertainly at his father. "Does it bother you Daddy?" he asked.

Tom Sr. sat up fully and pulled his baby boy into his lap and wrapped his arms around him. "No, it doesn't bother me, Tom. Nothing you do bothers me."

"Then why did you scold me at Grandmum's Christmas party?"

"Well, alright, sometimes your behavior bothers me, but _never _anything like talking to snakes and making the tea kettle boil because you want tea right that instant."

"But Grandmum and Granddad always get upset if I do things in front of them, and I know you get nervous when I do something when we have company over."

"Grandmum and Granddad may not be as alright with your…abilities—"

"Magic."

"Yes, magic, as I am. And I may get a little nervous if others are around…but Tom, that's because they aren't supposed to know people like you and your mum exist."

"Why?"

"Because then they'd get jealous, and you know how mean jealous people can get."

"But then why aren't you jealous?"

"Why, because you're my son! You just make me proud. Especially today—you're getting so big! I won't be able to pick you up for much longer." The last part Tom Sr. murmured sadly, getting an annoyed pout from his now nine-year-old son.

"I wouldn't let you pick me up anyway," Tom said while sticking his nose in the air with a sniff.

Tom Sr. just grinned and without further ado scooped Tom into his arms and over his shoulder as he walked them both to the dining room, calling to Mrs. Jones for breakfast to be made, mock indignant shouts from his son and angry hisses from Merope following him. The grin never left Tom Riddle Sr.'s face.


End file.
